The World Trade Center was special to Holly because she had worked for the restaurant on the top floor (the 110th) of the north tower, Windows On The World. Windows On The World was special to me because I liked the view and the food and the ambience. Yes, it was expensive, but it was worth it. And the bathrooms were magnificently beautiful.
None of the people who died that day could be replaced (no one in Windows On The World at 8:45 A.M. on September 11, 2001 was able to make it out alive), but the buildings could have been rebuilt. I wish that they would be rebuilt. That would show courage.
The sonnets below were partly inspired by Ali, my second wife.
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Brush Strokes
Like thick translucent paint embroidered on
strong knotty pine becoming double doors,
relationships mature, each liaison
evolving naturally or planned. Cold floors
reflect emboldened fantasies, smooth dreams
now coalesce in gradual restraint
surrendered and devoured, soft ice creams
dissolving on our tongues. To reacquaint
each other with ourselves, we disagree
on angles of uncertainty, alive
with possibilities eternally
on borders of existence. We contrive
impassioned strokes of genuine regard
imprisoned in adjoining skies unstarred.
October 28, 1998
Concrete And Kittens
Concrete examples still personify
reactions incomplete, emotions mixed
like waterfalls in wilderness, dark sky
enshadowing internal politics
of loving equilibrium. My hand
is trembling with delight, a moment's touch
that blazes like volcanic wonderland.
The circle incomplete, and insomuch
as nothing integrates a pleasure, hot
as frozen ice, imagination
stills excitement squashed by sunny spot
a smear of greasy flesh and wills
both weak as kittens waking indistinct,
they open eyes, and carefully, they wink.
November 24, 2004
D. Composition III
Your head reclines upon soft pillows like
imagined visions in my mind, replete
in colored textures magnified that strike
sharp sparks from steel. Flint is bittersweet
as memories forgotten. Silken dust
accumulates relentlessly beneath
four-poster beds. Repressing wanderlust,
your tantalizing fantasies unsheath
themselves. In secret hiding places dark,
illuminated by a chandelier
reflecting passengers who disembark
with shaky steps, with thoughts unclear,
on golden gangplanks wearing satin clothes.
They sleepwalk as they decompose.
illuminated by a chandelier
reflecting passengers who disembark
with shaky steps, with thoughts unclear,
on golden gangplanks wearing satin clothes.
They sleepwalk as they decompose.
November 12, 1998
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